Drum Beat
by Archaeologist
Summary: It's Merlin's birthday. You would think for once Arthur would stop being a prat – but then pigs would have to fly.


**Title:** Drum beat  
**Characters:** Merlin, Arthur  
**Time period:** before they went to Ealdor, sometime before season 1, episode 10 (The Moment of Truth)  
**Rating:** g  
**Word count:** 4090  
**Summary:** It's Merlin's birthday. You would think for once Arthur would stop being a prat – but then pigs would have to fly.  
**Spoilers:** none  
**Notes:** Colin Morgan's (he plays Merlin in the tv show) birthday is Jan 1 and he plays the bodhrán, an Irish frame drum. I've heard he's quite good, too.

* * *

Feasting in the hall and Merlin was already tired.

It was the dark time of year, winter solstice and a couple of weeks beyond, when days were short and cold and the land seemed buried beneath snow. Today, though, the first day of the new year, everyone in Camelot was celebrating.

Well, everyone except him.

The hall was decked out in finery: fir and ripe berries, the glitter of gold and scarlet linen gracing the windows and at one end, the fire was roaring warmth and light and the smell of sweet herbs into the room. There were smiles on the faces of knights and servants alike, the joyous sound of shared laughter filling the hall, the heart-deep satisfaction of family and friends gathered around.

Instead, Merlin got to work like a slave and try not to miss his mother.

They'd not had much in Ealdor. The long nights of the winter were hard enough and fires were for survival, not celebration. But on this day, the first day of the new year, his birthday, his mother had always managed to give him the simplest of presents and have a sweet or two to share between them. And he'd played his drum for her and she would always declare that it was the best she'd ever heard. Blushing, he'd known it for a lie but it never failed to warm him. She was his mother and he loved her.

Now, he was far from home and alone. Gauis had tried to cheer him up, letting him have the week off and even Gwen had embroidered his name on one of his neckerchiefs as a gift. But it wasn't the same.

His chores had only grown as the celebrations neared. Most of the servants had had their duties lessened or cancelled but Prince Prat seemed to take that as an excuse to make Merlin scurry around the castle, doing this, that or some other thing that sometimes made no sense, that sometimes he swore Arthur was making up. Always his over-bearing self, calling for wine or a coat to ward off some sudden chill or asking if his armour was done yet – as if he were going to wear it any time soon. Cleaning his royal annoyance's room and in the next second, Arthur storming through it, looking for who-knows-what, sending shirts and chainmail flying and then telling Merlin to clean it all up again.

And Merlin would hurry here and there and do everything that was required of him, muttering under his breath the whole time but still doing it. Because he wasn't home and in a way, he could almost forget that sad fact with exhausting, endless tasks.

As the feast grew louder and more boisterous, Arthur kept glancing at him, frowning. Merlin would turn around, hoping that whomever the prince was mad at, it wasn't him but there was never anyone behind him and finally, he just shrugged and stood there, wishing that soon he'd be dismissed for the night and he could go back to his cot and dream of Ealdor.

Instead there was entertainment, children singing and a bard starting a tale of mystery and magic and when Uther scowled displeasure, quickly changing it into a story about heroes with swords. Then there were jugglers and Merlin would have liked to watch but all he could think of was home as he rushed around, filling Arthur's goblet or getting him more meat for his plate or doing the dozen or so tasks that –frankly - someone else could be doing.

So he wasn't paying much attention when musicians began to gather at the far end of the hall. He ignored the first strains of music, a slow, stately thing and the swirl of colour and light that meant people were dancing. But when that set had ended and the next began with a lively drum beat, he stopped and listened, suddenly breathless.

It was the same, the same type of drum he'd had at home, the same kind that he'd left behind and not been able to play again in all the months since he'd been here. It reminded him of Ealdor and his mother's warmth and the joy on her face on his birthday when he played for her.

His birthday.

Fighting the prickle of loss behind his eyes, his throat closing in a wave of homesickness, he put down the flagon of wine, and muttering some excuse, stumbled from the room.

He'd be damned before he'd let Arthur see him like that. He'd never hear the end of it, how he was a girl and would never come up to the standards of Camelot's finest if he was going to be crying all over the place.

Vision swimming from unshed tears, he finally made it to a corner of the one of the lesser stairways, used by servants and too lowly for noble folk, before the grief took him. Sitting down, his head in his hands, he tried to breathe through the loss but his fingers were wet and it just hurt too much.

At least the prince wasn't there to ridicule him for being a girl.

Or maybe he was. Too soon, Merlin could hear the sound of boots slapping against stone, the distinctive arrogance of princely pratliness coming his way. He wasn't sure he'd be polite if Arthur started berating him again, destiny or not. And if he was looking to get his goblet filled or to send Merlin on another mindless errand, he'd just have to find some other servant. He'd had enough for one night, especially this night.

He tried to huddle closer to the wall, hoping to remain unnoticed but all efforts were in vain. When Arthur went hunting, he usually found his quarry.

"Merlin, what are you doing here? My cup was running dry. Honestly, Merlin, you are the worst manservant I've ever had."

Head still down, he tried to wipe his face, smearing tear tracks and sorrow across his cheeks. He didn't look at Arthur as he said, "Sorry. I wasn't feeling well. I have to…" And he couldn't say anything else, just trailed off into silence.

There was a moment when Merlin hoped Arthur would take the hint and leave but no such luck. Instead, the prince stood there, boots nudging at Merlin's leg, a reminder that he was just a lowly servant and nobility always got their way and would he get back to work before Arthur decided to sack him again.

He used his sleeve to try and dab at his face, to remove any trace of tears before Arthur caught on but he was smarter than he looked, apparently.

"Something is wrong, isn't it?" the prat sounded almost upset. "You've hardly talked back to me in weeks."

"It's nothing, sire." With a long sigh, Merlin rose to his feet, still not looking at Arthur though. He didn't want to see the contempt in his eyes. "Can I go now? It's late and I have to be up early to help Gauis."

It wasn't a complete lie but he didn't want to deal with Arthur's nosiness at the moment. Sometimes when the prince decided he wanted to know something, he'd shift the moon and the stars if necessary to find out.

"Not until I know what it is." Arthur's voice shifted into worry."Are the other servants giving you a hard time? Or my knights?"

He certainly didn't want to get other people into trouble just because he was homesick. "No, it's fine. I'll be better tomorrow. So can I go now?"

He wasn't whining, really he wasn't but as he glanced over at Arthur, he could see a puzzled frown on his face and then that narrowed eye thing that he did whenever he wasn't happy with the answers.

"No, Merlin, not until you tell me what it is."

It was getting worse and worse. Arthur was trying to push himself into places that only a friend should go and he didn't even realize it and Merlin was certainly not going to tell him, much as he'd like to. He'd already heard the lecture about how servants and princes shouldn't be friends from Gaius and Gwen had told him the same thing in her own way. And though he would like to be more than just a servant to Arthur, it wasn't going to happen.

So he'd better figure out something to tell him or else he'd never hear the end of it. "You aren't going to just let it go, are you?" Arthur sent him one of those annoying smirks and a shake of his head. Merlin let out another sigh and tried to think of a plausible lie, one that would satisfy the prat. "I would have liked some time off, like the other servants got."

It must have worked because Arthur just nodded and that predatory, huntery look vanished. "Ah, well, it's tradition for the unmarried servants or those far from home to work extra shifts so those with families could be home for the celebrations."

It made sense even if it hurt like hell. He wanted to go home, too; he wanted to see his mother and hear her soft voice and play the drum for her and make her smile. And damn it, it was his birthday even if Arthur didn't know it. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice but it must have bled through.

"Doesn't seem very fair."

"True but those who work extra hard get time off in the summer to compensate." Arthur passed it off as if everyone, even an idiotic manservant, should have known. He was also doing that puzzled frown again.

"Oh." Tired, more than a little miserable, he turned away, shoulders slumping, half-muttering to himself. "Still, it would have been…."

"What?" Sharp voice and Arthur was staring at him.

Merlin realized that he must have given more away than he'd thought and even though it wasn't as important as his magic, the prince had no right to intrude on his birthday. "Nothing, sire. If that is all?"

Mouth pursed as if he'd eaten something bad, eyes narrowed again, standing tall and demandingly arrogant, Arthur said, "Come with me."

"I don't…."

"Merlin, you can tell me what's really bothering you in the hallways for everyone to hear or come back to my quarters and tell me in private. It's up to you."

With Arthur acting like the pompous bully that he was, there wasn't much to say but, "Fine!"

They didn't talk all the way back to Arthur's room. Merlin could just hear the strains of another song, one thankfully without the drum, in the hallway but the door cut off all the sound and there was only silence.

That is there was silence until Arthur started in. "Alright, I want to know what is going on with you. You've been surly for weeks, even more surly than normal. Plus you've been 'sireing' this and 'sireing' that, not using my name – much as you are not supposed to use it as I am your Prince and should be addressed properly, I've gotten used to it by now and it's irritating when you don't."

Merlin'd had enough. He shouted back, "You've been telling me for months to use 'sire' and 'my lord' and now you are upset that I'm not using them? That doesn't make sense."

Arthur got this incredibly smug look on his face and Merlin just wanted to punch him for it. "Of course it does, _Mer_lin. I want you to go back to the way you were, not this moping, more bumbling-than-usual, idiotic manservant. Is that so hard to do?"

He just glared at Arthur. Telling him he was incompetent as well as moping –although the moping part had been true – was just too much. "You are an arrogant prat, you know that? Could you ever think about someone else for a change?"

"Why should I? You are supposed to be my servant, not the other way around. And if I say that you are to address me as sire or Arthur or hazzlefrazt cerigard, you will do so." If anything, the smug look deepened and his eyes were gleaming satisfaction.

It took a minute to process but Merlin finally got past the arrogant look and the grin that was threatening to surface on that annoying face when he realized what Arthur had actually said. "What? What kind of title is that?"

"One I just made up and I can make you say it if I want or I will put you in the stocks. In the snow."

Now the grin was there, full-blown and infuriating and it made Merlin even more unbalanced. "You wouldn't!"

A laugh and the prince, hands on hips and looking as sure of himself as Merlin had ever seen him, seemed to be having a marvellous time baiting the manservant. "You keep forgetting who I am. I am your prince and you will do as I say."

"I haven't forgotten for a moment that you are a prince, you ass," he snapped.

Nodding, his smile growing brilliant, he was looking at Merlin as if he'd given him a present. "Good. Then you will tell me what is wrong. I will fix it and then you can go back to being less surly and hopefully more competent – I doubt you could get any worse."

"I'm doing my best. You think it's easy working for a pompous, arrogant prince who doesn't seem to understand the first thing about being away from home and birthdays and missing his mo…."

Deeper and deeper. Merlin really needed to learn when to shut up or at least let his brain catch up with his idiotic mouth first. Damn. But instead all he could do was glare at Arthur.

"Oh. So that's it. You miss your mother. Well, I can fix that. As soon as the passes are clear, you can go visit her." The man was almost dancing, seemed to want to crow his victory. As if the prat didn't have better things to do with his time.

"Thank you, sire."

He knew he was being ungrateful, that he should stop grumbling about the whole thing. Arthur was trying to be helpful and ordinarily he'd be more than happy that the prince was trying his best to do something nice for someone else, that for once he was thinking about how other people felt. But right now the knowledge was bitter and not a little cruel.

"Just for a week or so. I'll need you back here for the spring tournament." Arthur was still savouring his triumph when the rest of Merlin's words seemed to sink in. "Hang on a minute. Birthday? When is your birthday?"

"It's none of your damn business, my lord." It was all Merlin could do not to roll his eyes.

Cocking his head to one side, Arthur said sharply, "Merlin, what did I tell you about names?"

"Alright, hazzlefrazt cerigard, it's still none of your damn business." He threw up his hands in frustration.

"I can find out from Gauis." It wasn't beyond the prince to get sneaky, too, or blackmail someone into mischief. Or order someone to give up secrets.

"And then what? Harass me some more? Make me clean your room twice just because it's my birthday? Oh, wait, you did that already."

Okay, now he was scowling at him because he was just that angry. If only Arthur would give up and let him go back to his room and sulk, it might be better for everyone concerned but of course, he didn't. Arthur had to win at _everything_.

"Well, I did it today but only because you were in such a temper." Arthur had the affront to look affronted and then it hit him. Finally. "Wait. Today is your birthday?"

"Great. Yeah, it's my birthday. Happy day to me. Can I go now?" He really didn't want to deal with this any more.

"But Merlin…."

He'd had enough. Turning away, he began to pull open the door and go back to his room or anywhere else really, but in the hallway, the strains of another melody, the drum as counter-point, were echoing along the stone walls. Merlin recognized the song; it had been one that his mother had sung in the evening whenever he'd had a rough time with his magic or his lack of friends or thinking about all the ways he'd never fit in; it was a comforting cheery tune that had always made him smile.

Now, the sounds stopped him cold.

Arthur was right behind him but it didn't matter. It hurt too much to listen. So he swung around, almost bumping noses with the prince and as they both staggered apart, trying to avoid each other, Merlin said, "You want to do something for me, sire? Get them to stop playing the damn drum. They aren't playing it right anyway and I could always make it sound better than that."

"Drum?" He sounded as if he had no idea what Merlin was talking about.

"Yeah, I always played the drum for my mother on my birthday and now they are playing it in the hall and it's making me _surly_. So stop them and we'll count it even, okay?"

Still looking confused, Arthur just nodded and that was enough.

Merlin turned back, sullen and unhappy, and quick as he could, started walking toward his quarters. Behind him he could hear the prince calling out but he shook his head, shouted, "I'm going to bed. If you want to sack me, you can do it in the morning. When it's not my birthday."

The morning came too soon.

Looking back at the whole thing, Merlin knew he had been terribly out of line. He'd been rude and aggressive, lost his temper and treated Arthur with something akin to contempt when all he'd done was try and help.

He knew he needed to give Arthur a very big apology; he just hoped that the prat wouldn't lord it over him too much, although Merlin really did deserve all the abuse Arthur could hurl at him this time. A lesser man would have locked him in the dungeons for what he'd done and some would have had him killed.

Gauis was out on calls so he couldn't even talk to him about it. So it was with great reluctance that he approached Arthur's room, breakfast in hand, and hoped it wouldn't be too bad.

Taking his courage in his hands, he put on his sunniest smile and knocked – no time like the present to begin to make amends. There was a silence behind the door and he pushed it open. No sign of Arthur and he was almost relieved - almost. He put down the plate and started to clean up the room, making the bed quickly and gathering up laundry into the basket, thinking about what he'd have to do next, trying to be the perfect servant for a change.

It wasn't working; he was quite awful at his job. Everyone knew it. He didn't know why Arthur hadn't sacked him ages ago.

So with that knowledge in his heart, lifting the laundry basket, he turned around to see the prince just inside the door, arms crossed, waiting for him.

"Arthur." His face heating, his throat tried to close up with embarrassment and the residue of yesterday's confrontation but Merlin pushed past it. He needed to apologize, really needed to let Arthur know just how badly he felt about what he'd done. "Sire, I'm sorry. I hope that what I said last night wasn't so bad that you are going to sack me again, although I do deserve it this time. Not like last time when you sacked me because that wasn't right but I mean…"

Oh, he sounded like he was stumbling over his own tongue and he'd hoped to make amends, not make more of an idiot of himself. Taking another breath, Merlin started again. "I was wrong. You tried to be understanding and all I did was make things worse. I hope that if you do sack me, you won't hold it against me. What I said. Sire."

At least Arthur wasn't throwing daggers at him, although that was a distinct possibility for later.

"You really are a terrible manservant, the worst I've ever seen." Said with a straight face and solemn eyes, Arthur looked cool, almost stony. A bad sign. "My father would have cut out your tongue and nailed it to the outermost gate as a warning to upstart peasants about talking back."

Merlin grimaced at that. He was rather fond of his tongue although sometimes it got him into trouble.

"And then he would have thrown you into the dungeons until you rotted or else slit your throat if he thought your useless hide wasn't worth the cost of upkeep." Arthur pushed off, walking slowly toward him, watching him the whole time as he drew near. "I, on the other hand, am magnanimous enough to keep you alive. It appeals to my better nature and the fact that I already have you half-trained. It would be a waste to throw that all away just because you had a birthday."

"Yes, sire." He couldn't really fault Arthur's reasoning and it did sound like he wasn't going to kill him yet.

Stopping right in front of him, the prince's gaze turned thoughtful. "Of course, I can't be giving presents to my surly manservant as that would set a precedent and that's just not acceptable. In fact, I can't be giving presents to my non-surly manservant – if I ever were to find such a rarity - since he might think he could take liberties beyond his station."

"Yes, sire." Merlin thought that if he kept saying it, Arthur would eventually forgive him. But he also wasn't sure what the man was nattering on about.

Arthur sauntered over to the table and sat down, picking at his breakfast with one hand and, with the other, gesturing toward the scatter of broken bits and ripped cloth in the far corner, ready for the dust bin. Merlin had planned on picking up the rubbish later and getting rid of it when he'd come back with Arthur's clean clothes.

"It's obvious that you don't know the protocol between masters and their servants in Camelot. Anything I discard as worthless is yours. You can take it with you or sell it or give it away." His eyes flicked toward Merlin's neckerchief and then down towards his boots. "I can see that you haven't taken advantage of the situation since your clothing and that grotty piece of cloth around your neck is none of mine but any useful rubbish is yours." He nodded again toward the pile. "Especially today."

The man was making no sense but it was clear Arthur wanted him to clean it up first so he put aside the laundry and started gathering up the trash. There were several lengths of fabric, some of it awful and some quite good and a few brass buttons and under it all, a drum that fit perfectly into his hand.

"My lord?" He had a million questions all clamouring to be asked: how and why and what was going on and was it real or just a lovely dream.

Arthur shrugged, all careless lifts of one shoulder, a gesture that said everything and nothing, as if what Merlin had discovered was not his doing. "The drum was made unusable after the drummer was told to stop his incessant noise by the prince of the realm. And now, coincidentally, it's in the rubbish. How _unfortunate_."

"Arthur?" He couldn't keep the joy out of his voice but it didn't matter. This was something to be treasured and more so because, much as he might deny it, it had come from Arthur Pendragon.

Settling back into his chair, Arthur started to smile. "And if I find that you have a talent for something, I expect you to entertain me with it, be it gossip or sewing skills or music or tripping over your own feet – which I must say I find vastly amusing at times." A full-blown smirk. "My own personal jester."

"Prat."

"Idiot."

And grinning widely, Merlin sat down and began to play.

The end.


End file.
